The wind howled outside, snow still thick on the ground from the storm that nearly killed John out in the Grizzlies. He'd been out there alone too long, and if the wolves didn’t get him, the cold surely would've. But now, inside the small log cabin, he was alive. Barely alive. Stitched up, bruised, and bitter about every bit of it.

The door opens with a long creak and footsteps follow. John glances toward the sound the most he could, weak but still trying to look like he’s fine.

“You come to check if I’m still breathin’?” He says with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well.. sorry to disappoint.”